


What Happens In Miami...

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice, Psych
Genre: Genere: Crossovers, Genere: Humor, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-04
Updated: 2010-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-08 17:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Spencer and Westen clans unite through marriage, and to get closer to Michael Shawn helps him out with a case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens In Miami...

**Author's Note:**

> For Becky:
> 
> "He lives in a pineapple under the sea!"

"I know you're upset, Mikey," Sam Axe declared, as they finished off their usual lunch meeting at Carlitos, "but I don't think torturing that orange'll make it better."

Michael glared up at Sam, removing a gouging fingernail from the piece of fruit. "My mother just told me she's marrying some guy she met off of a website and we can't find out client's daughter." He put a fake, toothy grin on his face. "Is that better?"

Sam shuddered. "No!"

"Scaring Sam?" Fiona arrived with a bloody mary and a smirk. "You might just have the knack, Michael."

"Get ready to get knocked on your own duff," Sam replied.

Fiona turned to look at Michael, who could only give her a weak parody of a smile in return. "We're going to meet them tomorrow."

"We?" Fiona asked, stirring the bloody mary with her celery stalk.

"Uh, yeahhh….Mom asked us out to dinner tomorrow night, at her place. Apparently the fiancé's coming to town, and he's bringing his son with him. "

"I wasn't invited," Sam glowered, jabbing at the ice clogging his mojito with a swizzle stick.

"She wanted to make a good first impression." Michael retorted playfully.

"Your mother's getting married again?" Fiona tilted her head thoughtfully. "I didn't know Virgil had proposed."

Michael choked on his coffee. "It's not Virgil."

"A new man," Fiona tilted her head thoughtfully. "How intriguing…"

"If Mikey were any more 'intrigued', he'd have an ulcer," Sam pointed out.

"He survived interrogation by Serbian rebels, he can survive this," Fi pointed out. Under the table, she took his hand and squeezed it.

Sam snorted. "Whatever. If you need me to save you, just call. And you won't need me to save you… unless Maddie cooking."

Michael simply gave Sam a pained grimace.

***

Two minutes into the "nice family dinner" his mother had arranged for her boyfriend, chaos predictably broke out. No guns greeted Michael Westen as he sat shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth, but the glares traded around the table were sharp enough to cut diamonds.

Madeline occupied a chair at one end of the table, the man she was set to marry flanking her. Michael gave his mother a tolerant smile as she beamed at her husband-to-be. He turned toward the older man and glowered, then received a snarl of his own in return, his posture screaming "don't fuck with me". Picking his battles, Michael turned toward his mother and said in a pleasant tone, "so…you met on the internet…"

Madeline smiled. "On boomerdating.com. Henry went right in my top five two days after we started talking." She beamed at the person seated to Michael's right. "Thank you for helping me set up my profile, Fiona."

Fiona smiled over the rim of her bloody mary. "Gladly. We Westen women need to look out for each other." She gave Michael a superior, arrogant sort of smile, the kind that threatened his strong self-control. Her own engagement ring made resonant contact with the glass as she took another sip.

"To bros," the guy sitting across from him spoke up suddenly, "and the ladies who look out for each other." Shawn – that's what Michael thought his name was - hoisted his glass toward Fiona, but gave a more wary look to Madeline. The man seated beside him inhaled a mouthful of coffee at his friend's next words. "And dresses with deep cleavage."

Michael glanced sideways at Fiona, and noticed her knuckles had turned white against the container. "You can't shoot him," he reminded her.

The celery made an alarming crunching noise as she bit down.

"So what do you do, Michael?" Henry asked, cutting another crusty, unidentifiable chunk of cassarole out of the dish.

Michael considered his answer. "I work in…" he glanced at Fi, "…Waste disposal."

Shawn rose a brow. "Sounds like a cover for something cool and Tony Soprano-y."

"Shawn, don't antagonize the man," Gus said.

"I'm not antagonizing! I just want to figure out what's going on under those swank Ray-Bans."

"I…help people out," said Michael to his hands.

Madeline beamed. "He's working on helping someone now. How's that going, Michael?"

"Ummm…." He glanced at Fi. "As expected," he said.

Shawn paused in mid-chew. "If you need any help, I'd be glad to help. We've already been to Sea World twice and the sea turtles are afraid of Gus."

"Shawn, don't involve yourself. It's none of your business," growled Henry.

"Seriously, Michael – from one guy who helps people to another. I don't know if your mom told you – but I'm psychic."

Gus made a scoffing noise. "Shawn!"

"Ssh, my sweet stringbean," Shawn said. "You know it's my sworn duty to help out the vision-impaired."

"Shawn:?" Gus asked. "Bathroom."

"But…"

"Your fly's unbuttoned. You know that you always need help buttoning your fly…"

"What? It's not…" There was an audible clicking noise under the table that made Fiona snicker, followed by a look of stunned disbelief on Shawn's face.

Shawn followed Gus into the bathroom, a barely-mumbled 'excuse me' filling the air.

Michael, Fi, Madeline and Henry stared at their plates.

"Great casserole, Madeline," said Henry.

"Yeahhh," said Michael, his fake smile clamped into place. "Great."

"It's a meatloaf!" cried out Madeline.

 

***

"Dude, that was so uncool!" Shawn cried out, buttoning up his pants as he studied the assortment of shell-shaped soaps collected on Madeline's soap dish.

"I had to get you out of there before you said something stupid," Gus hissed. "That guy's your step-brother-to-be, Shawn."

"Exactly, Gus," Shawn said. "And is there any better way to get closer to a James-Bondish dude than offer him your trust?"

"Shawn, don't you remember what happened to all of James Bond's sidekicks?"

Shawn frowned. "They went on to mild popularity as jewelry makers and actors in popular westerns?"

Gus threw up his hands. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"He helps people and we help people," Shawn said. "So let's help him out. It's what Elton John called the circle of life."

"You just don't want to go to the Shamu Super Show again," Gus accused.

"My poor little jealous snookaroo…" Shawn tisked, adjusting his hair.

"That wasn't the point I was trying to make! Shawn, you can't go on pretending you're a psychic in front of the Westens!"

Shawn put his fingers to his temple. "I see an overcooked turkey in the future, and Fiona threatening me with a pair of brass knuckles. Easy as pie." Gus glared at him. Shawn said, in a more comforting tone, "if you start having a bad time, we can go to the hotel any time you want."

Gus tilted his head. "You playing?"

"I promise."

Gus sighed. "All right, but if this blows up in our faces you owe me free cuddle time with Mr. Flopsy."

"DUDE, Mr. Flopsy's my favorite…" Gus only stared at him evenly. But Shawn aquisanced. "All right, man."

***

Michael knew giving Shawn the address to the loft was a bad idea, but he pasted on a cheerful smile as Shawn examined a box of shells he'd left on the counter.

"So, are you a private detective?" Gus asked. He'd settled himself onto sofa and was eating a slice of recently-heated pizza.

"We're freelance," Sam explained, getting a fresh beer from the refrigerator. Michael could see Shawn's eyes dart in his head as he took the loft in.

"Why don't you help Fiona unload the trunk?" Michael suggested through clenched teeth.

Shawn frowned. "I don't think she wants me to touch anything…"

"Tell her I asked," Michael said, all but pushing Shawn out the door. Once he was out of the loft Michael heaved out a relieved sigh.

"is he always like that?" Sam chuckled.

"Always," Gus declared, his eyes glued to the episode of American Duos blaring from the TV Set.

Michael's cell phone rang. On the other end, to his bemusement, was their client. Their fifteen minute chat was less than friendly, and very loud – in the midst of it, Shawn and Fiona entered the room.

"…So that's why you have so many guns?"

"That's right. We're with the toys for guns program," Fiona said, sending Michael a death glare to end all death glares.

"You do good work," Shawn remarked, picking up the 'toy' gun Michael had placed on the counter. "Kids shouldn't get their hands on these unless they have the imagination to use them."

"Maybe you should watch what you're doing," Michael suggested.

"I've got a license to carry," Shawn replied. "Toy guns are child's play." He chuckled, looking up. "Gus, when I say something funny like that we should write it dow-" Shawn's speech ended when his gun accidentally fired, bouncing off the rangetop, ricochetting off a cupboard cover and careening toward Shawn's head. He didn't even have time to react – suddenly he was on the floor, Fiona was on top of him, and a shattered water glass signaled that the gun was all-too real.

The tableau froze for a moment, a silence finally breached by Shawn.

"Uhh," he squeaked from the floor. "Ouch, Xena."

"That's an expensive new model," Fiona declared, accidentally applying her knee to a rather sensitive part of Shawn's anatomy as she got up. "They're taking it off the market."

***

"You let him touch a loaded gun." Michael asked as he leaned against the bar top.

"I thought it would fix the problem," Fiona said lightly,

"Shawn's annoying, but he's not the problem," Michael said, adjusting the mesh collar of his club shirt. "Remember your cover?"

"Like, for sure!" Fi said, in a grating Valley Girl accent. Michael gave her a brief nod before delving into his own character as their contact approached.

Bobby was a thirty-four year old in a Panama suit with patchy ginger-colored facial hair and a thin build. He walked as if he had a load of rocks in his pocket, and a low-pitched laugh that sounded like a guard dog. This was the guy who knew the guy who had the client's daughter, and after a few cocktails and a little bit of shmoozing, he told Michael that the client's daughter was being held over in Orlando, in a motel two miles from Sea World.

"She's living the high life. Every day, they bring her a Shamu pop."

Fiona faked a laugh as Michael excused himself; in the men's room, he called Sam and relayed the info.

Sam pulled his borrowed Chrystler over to motel, a nearly abandoned struture off the costal highway mostly used by desperately poor Sunshine State visitors. There were two lights on in the windows, and by the time Michael and Fi arrived to join their surveilence detail, one set had gone out.

And somewhere near dawn, Shawn Spencer emerged from the other room in a pair of Spongebob Squarepants undershorts and eating from a box of Lucky Charms.

***

Shawn covered his hurt over being ignored for several days when he and Gus finally met up with Michael and Sam again, over a breakfast at a nearby diner the next morning. Michael – whose manner was always ginger, to say the least – wore a mask of chagrin as he pushed his greasy scrambled eggs around the plate.

"So," Shawn said, after a particularly protracted moment of silence, "how about that local sports team?"

"Let's give it to 'em straight, Mikey," Sam suggested.

Michael looked at Shawn over the top of his sunglasses. "Take a deep breath and listen very, very carefully. We're surrounded by agents watching me for the government. We don't work for Toys for Guns. I used to be a spy, and now I do free-lance detective work for money."

Silence passed. Gus and Shawn looked at each other with shock-glazed eyes.

"A spy?!" Gus gaped. "A spy, as in secret-agent-man-guns-blazing?"

"They gave him a number and they took it away," Shawn said solemnly.

Sam started humming the Theme from Peter Gun against the rim of his coffee cup.

"Riiight. Sam and I could use your help. We think our client's stashing a kidnapping victim at the motel you're using."

Sam opened up a manila file, showing Shawn and Gus a black and white snapshot of a little girl. "Her name is Katie O'Lena. Her parents went through a nasty break-up. The mother got primary custody. Long story short, Katie's mother drops her off at her father's for the weekend. She comes back a week later to an empty house."

"We think the father's moving her around, trying to stay ahead of the police," Michael continued. "And we need you to sneak into the room and confirm she's in there. We might need someone to sneak into Sea World and watch them."

Shawn looked at Gus. They each withdrew a pair of shades from the front pocket of their blazers.

"It looks like the shark …" Shawn paused and they put the shades on. "….Is about to jump us…"

"Amature," Sam mumbled under his breath.

***

It took Shawn less than two minutes of observation to realize that the kid wasn't being held at the motel – the room was clean, no tracks, no little hints that say 'a scumbag is hiding a kid here.' An afternoon at Sea World – while lots of fun for Gus and enriching in the souvineer department – turned up nothing.

But the clues he picked up when they drove by the vitctim's house drew Shawn in an entirely different direction.

"Something's up with the mother," he said. "She's a little bit posessive."

"Most mothers are," Michael replied.

"Creepy-posessive. I talked to a kid who lives next door and it turns out that she doesn't let Katie out to play. They see her at school and through the back window."

Michael and Sam exchanged looks. "Sam, do you have any contacts at the mother's workplace?"

"Yeah. She works in construction – I know a couple of guys who're working on he same site."

Soon, they were in an industrial area of Miami, Michael dressed as a construction worker trying to tap the mother's friend for information, with Fiona giving him back-up and Michael and Shawn in the back seat. All of this on Shawn's hunch.

He had to admit he was getting into the spirit of things.

"Did you see that?" Shawn cried out, grabbing Sam by the forearm. "He MacGyver the hell out of that!"

Sam couldn't help but allow himself to be wrapped up in Shawn's excitement. "I once saw him kill a guy with a twist tie."

The two men managed to rock the cab of the Saab to violently that Fiona grumbled as she reloaded her Glock. "Could we stay focused, please?"

"Whatever you want, Big Red." Shawn declared. Fiona gave him an icy glare as she turned around. "Heels?" He tries. "Norma Bates?"

"Forget it man. The only thing that makes Fi smile is blood. And Michael." There's an added grumble to that.

Michael interrupted their stream of thought by throwing open the door, covered in smoke and soot from the minor explosion Fi had created for them. "I thought you were going to bring a second car," Fi murmured.

"Too conspicuous," he straightened his tie as Fi turned the engine.

"Hey, Shawn, do you see any…" Sam waved his fingers, up and down, as if making waves in the air.

"Are you trying to do the 'ghost' thing? 'Cause if you're looking for a medium you should have hired Tangina Barrons. I'm a psychic."

Fiona rolls her eyes, and Michael gives her a long-suffering sigh. They've been looking for the kidnapped girl for a month with no luck, and Shawn swore he could see a murder in his minds eye as if he had witnessed it, could track down a person with the ease of a bloodhound.

"Well?" Michael asked.

"Well?" Shawn replied.

Michael's shoulders shifted. Fiona let out a disgusted grunt. Sam watched him with the sort of curiosity a person at an execution might display.

"Where's the girl?" All three of them asked at once.

Shawn sighed. "Well – if you insist." His gaze turned steely and he began to massage his temple.

"Is he getting a vision or a migraine?" Sam asked no one in particular as he watched the process. In reality, Shawn was scanning the construction site before them for clues. With the intel Sam had managed to gather and the various bits of information he'd gleaned from talking to witnesses, he developed a fairly good idea of where the kid was.

Suddenly, Shawn pointed his index finger Southward. "In the jewelry district. The building on forty-third street."

"We already searched that building," Fi growled.

Michael looked over his shoulder. "Are you sure about this?"

Shawn nodded his head. "I can guarantee it."

Michael nodded his head. "Fi. Drive." He heard her let out a dangerous growl. "…please?"

The Saab's engine throttled, knocking Sam into Shawn and Shawn into the passenger side door. As the vehicle's tires squealed they all girded themselves for what was likely to be a difficult battle. Well, everyone but Shawn. He was too busy trying to figure out the right nickname for Fi…

***

Tonight, they would finally save the poor girl from her kidnapper whom Shawn was still entirely sure was her own mother.

"Do you think it's going to work out?" Gus worried.

"Gus, don't be such a silly spy!"

"WE'RE NOT SPIES, SHAWN!" Gus cried out. "That's what I've been trying to tell you all week! You're not a spy!!"

"Gus, I can't let a small detail like that get between us and rescuing that little girl."

"You were afraid of Inspector Gadget!"

"No, Gus, I was afraid of Doctor Klaw and his metal hand. THAT was overcompensation." Gus groaned. "Just trust me, my Caramello…"

 

***

"Why did I trust you?" Gus cried out. He and Shawn were huddled in a gutter, surrounded by gunfire, a rain of shattered glass falling down upon them. Someone had apparently figured out they were friends of Michael and Fiona and planned on finishing them off.

A horn blared in the distance – it was Fi and Michael. Somehow, crouch-walking, shrieking in fear, Shawn and Gus made it to the car and ducked inside. Neither of them quite knew how they managed to make it back to the club under Michael's loft, but they had – and they were forced to mix in with the crowd.

Shawn found himself pressed between Michael and Fi – the three of them quickly began to dance together – Shawn spasmodically, Michael elegantly, Fiona wildly.

"Put your hand on my bum," Fiona hissed, grabbing Shawn by the wrist. His mouth gaped open in horror as she kissed him and Michael awkwardly nipped at Shawn's earlobe. Their faces hidden by Fi's hair, they were able to provide their own cover as the kidnappers vacated the club.

When they stopped kissing, Fiona stared up at both men, eyebrow up. "Well…" she said.

 

***

Michael couldn't quite meet Fiona's eyes as they fought for possession of the blanket. "Well."

She pushed her hair out of her eyes. "Well," she echoed.

Shawn sat at the furthest edge of the bed, eyeing the sculpture sitting in the corner. "Is that an original Ms. Pac-Man from 1982?"

Michael scrubbed his face with an open palm. "I wouldn't know…"

"A badass super-spy who plays video games," Shawn got out of bed and bowed toward them. "I'm not worthy!"

"It came with the loft," Michael said – he never really had noticed it before, it had been under a drop cloth they had managed to knock over during their rush to get to the bed.

Fiona yawned and stretched, shrugging – she was still too satisfied to ask for anything, and had definitely enjoyed herself the night before. Michael hadn't quite come to grips with the fact that they had ALL enjoyed themselves last night, but he'd get there. After some coffee-flavored yogurt…

At that point the front door squeaked open. "Mikey, I finally got…" Sam began. But then he peered into the bedroom. Shawn had plugged the game in and was trying to reach his all-time highest score in his underwear, Fiona had fallen back to sleep in a position only the most committed yoga fanatic would attempt, her head dipping backward off the bed and her leg curled over Michael's groin. And Michael was lying on top of the blankets wearing nothing but an expression of full-blown horror.

Sam knew how to make a graceful exit. "Uh, I'll be out here with Gus, the car, and my CLOTHES…"

And then he left them, mumbling that his invitation must've gotten lost in the mail.

***

Sam was PISSED about having been left out, but not as pissed as Gus, who kept mumbling to Shawn about keeping Mr. Flopsy all to himself. Shawn sunk down in the back of the car, hating that Gus was mad with him.

"Is that a codeword for your dick?" Sam whispered to Shawn.

"Cool it, Avalon."

"Avalon?" Fi asked.

"For my shirts, Fi. Please tell me you've seen a Beach Party film." Fi's lack of recognition made Sam groan. "Frankie Avalon. Annette Funicello. Hot chicks in bikinis! Erich Von Zipper!" Sam just groaned in dismay. "Forget it."  
Shawn pressed his hand to Sam's chest and stared across the intersection. His eyes had y zeroed in on the car opposite them.

Sitting in the back seat of the car was definitely Katie.

And the driver was the girl's mother!

"Follow her!"

Fiona squinted. "That's the client."

"No, Natural Red, that's the kidnapper!" Fiona's eyes bugged out at the chosen nickname, but Michael's tone of warning snapped her out of her anger.

"Fi, she's got a gun!"

Suddenly, Fiona was flooring it, Sam and Michael were shooting from their positions behind her while trying not to hit the cowering three year old in the back seat of the opposing car and Shawn and Gus were shrieking in fear.

"Here," Sam said, unholstering the Smith and Wesson strapped to his ankle and tossing it into Shawn's open hands. "Try to hit the wheels!"

"Shawn," Gus said, "if you hit one of those, I'll never mention Mr. Flopsy again."

Shawn squinted. He stared down the car. In his head echoed the theme from Remmington Steele. And he fired…

***

He reallly should have stuck with negotiation. Or hand to hand combat. But the doctor said that there wouldn't be any nerve damage from where Sam's gun had bucked back into his hand, just a broken hand.

Katie had been returned to her father's family; two days later the Miami Police department dug up her back lawn and found the corpse of her ex-husband. ("Thus why Katie's mother didn't want her to play in the back yard," Shawn noted). Shawn's one shot had taken out the front tire and was ultimately responsible for her driving off the road and into a fruit stand (no casualties, thankfully). Michael told Shawn proudly that if he hadn't been with them, they never would have been able to stop that woman.

The day saved, everything got back to normal. Maddie nursed Shawn back to health (when she wasn't poisoning him with her home cooking), Katie embarked on a well-rounded life with her grandparents, and Michael and Fiona proceeded with their engagement.

Several months later, Michael and Shawn were standing side-by-side in the receiving line at Maddie and Henry's reception. Michael turned to Shawn briefly.

"Uh Shawn?"

"Don't worry, Honey Rider. What happens in Miami stays in Miami."

Michael sighed and readjusted his sunglasses. "Thank God."

THE END


End file.
